


Somehow, I Cannot Seem to Reach You

by shireidesu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, self-indulgent writings for my ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireidesu/pseuds/shireidesu
Summary: Blair knew her selfishness would lead to this in the end. Estelle knew that it was useless to stop it.But both of them tried anyways.





	Somehow, I Cannot Seem to Reach You

**Author's Note:**

> insp - 心做し by Chouchou-P
> 
> "If I somehow, I could have a heart, where would I go to find one?"   
> With a small grin, you told me, "Well, you see. It's been right here all along."

Blair knew it was coming eventually if she didn’t stop. She could feel it from _that day_ that she was doomed to follow in her uncle’s footsteps. He’d warned her of the dangers, yet she hadn’t been able to change anything.

It would be different, she knew, if she hadn’t sworn her loyalty already. It wouldn't matter if she had been an ordinary guard. She should have denied her position the moment she realized it, given up her spot to someone who would protect her. But who could she trust to lay down their life for their princess? Not any soldier she knew, not any knight she remembered. Blaise came close—but he already had the heir prince to worry about. Even so, she would not hand her duty over, not even to Blaise.

Her selfishness was her downfall. She had no one else to blame. She was betraying her princess, and now she would pay the price.

 

 

It happened on a cold winter morning in mid-December. The memory was burned into her like a brand. The first petals—vivid purple—fell onto her palm in painful coughs. She recognized them immediately when she saw them. Estelle, luckily, had not seen.

“Are you alright, Blair? You haven’t caught the cold that's been going around, have you?” No, she was not alright. She wished she had caught a cold instead of this sickness. She merely dismissed the princess’s worries and tucked the petals into her pocket surreptitiously.

Perhaps it was merely a trick of the mind, she thought.

 

 

Later that night, three more petals fell. She burned them in the fireplace while the princess was fast asleep. It was not just a trick of the mind.

 

* * *

 

Estelle isn’t sure, but she gets the strangest feeling that Blair is hiding something from her.

She watches the knight out of the corner of her eye, but Blair doesn’t show anything out of place. The meeting was wholly unnecessary, just a rehash of the previous day’s decisions. Estelle would normally have tried to surreptitiously mess with Blair, but today she is more curious about what was really going on with the knight. Blair, straight-faced as usual, stands at the side of the room with an image of relaxation—but Estelle knows better. She can see how Blair shifts her weight uncomfortably from one side to another, how Blair's eyebrows furrow occasionally as if a noxious smell passed under her nose.

She’s so busy watching the knight that she misses the dismissal of the meeting room. Hastily, she gets to her feet and thanks each attendee for their time, praying that none of them noticed her absentmindedness. Blair is beside her immediately after she finishes, a quiet "my lady" on her lips. Estelle almost thinks that everything is back to normal.

Blair coughs, and Estelle asks if Blair is okay. It’s just a cold, but in the winter such things can lead to terrible ends. She knows of the stories, seen her father succumb to a cold that caught him in the winter, witnessed the life melt away into the hard, cold ground.

But it’s just a cold, Blair reassures her again, and Estelle misses the violets that she hides in her hands. She doesn’t see the next petals that fall later that night, and she won’t ever see the next ones.

 

* * *

 

Petals are strange to see in the winter. The flowers are all asleep, buried underneath the cold snow and ice. It didn’t take long for the whispers to start happening. It feels like spring is almost here, the servants comment in the hallways. Maybe I’m getting sick of winter, they say.

That’s one thing that Blair thanks this illness for. The scent of violets is brief—the scent lasts for only a moment of clarity, then disappears as though it was never there. She doesn’t need an excuse to why she smells of flowers recently, why the fireplaces emit a sweet scent through the night. (it's merely an illusion, a trick of the mind)

 

 

But even so, she’s found out almost immediately.

 

 

“Blair.” Her older brother’s voice has lost its cheery tone. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s winter after all, flowers don't grow in winter, much less violets. But even if she were able to lie, he was there at his—their—uncle’s bedside when he passed. They both know it too well, and it's too personal to not recognize it.

“How long? How long has this been going on?”  He pleads with her. In his hands, he holds the remains that she was unable to remove in time. He doesn’t want the same thing to happen to her. He knows there’s only two ways this can end, and one is more likely than the other. But even so, she knows that he would do anything to prevent that end, no matter how futile.

Here is another person she is hurting, she thinks, all because she had been selfish.

“Please don’t tell her this,” she tells Blaise, because this is all she can do now. “Don’t let her know about me.” She doesn’t need to bother _her_ with this when she already has so much on her hands. She knows that she is too kind—there was no doubt that she would stop at nothing to help—and she doesn’t want her to try to save her in vain, like Blaise wants to. This is the very least she can do to ease the pain.

 

 

(her pain, not his, not _hers_ , because in the end, she’s still selfish)

 

 

She hacks up an entire flower while lying in bed that night. It tears through her throat, and her chest burns like fire. Her mouth is a mix of iron and sweetness; she gags at the taste. But she doesn’t cry out in pain, she doesn’t shed a tear, she doesn’t beg for help. This is punishment for hurting two people with her feelings, she thinks as she crumbles the flower in her palms.

 

After, she avoids Blaise as much as possible. She cannot stand looking at the way he frowns, eyes narrowed to slits, eyebrows scrunched together, mouth held taut in a tense line. He looks like he’s trying not to cry, not to yell in agony, and she doesn’t want to see him sad.

It is all she can do now, after all.

 

* * *

 

Blaise no longer smiles. That’s something that Estelle has recently noticed.

She remembers him as the jovial, teasing older brother, the more mischievous companion to Blair’s seriousness. There aren’t many times Estelle can recall him being so solemn, even while on duty. But recently, she hasn’t heard him laughing in the hallways, and he looks worn, as though he had aged a decade between the time Estelle last saw him and now.

Oh, he tries, Estelle knows. She can see him struggle to widen his grin, let the smile reach his eyes. She sees how he forces the laughter out of his lungs. But she’s caught the way it disappears almost instantaneously when she turns away. She’s noticed the way his laughter seems to be caught in his throat. She’s seen him, head in his hands, sitting on the steps outside in the snow, her brother’s arms around his shoulders.

Why—Estelle doesn’t know. Asking Tristan about Blaise seems about out of the question, given by the harsh wrinkles on his forehead whenever he looks as his sworn knight and Blair. Blair doesn’t say a word either, and Estelle has also observed that Blair subtly turns away whenever they encounter her elder brother.

(It hasn't passed her notice that Blair is avoiding her, too)

The way Blaise’s expression twists when he sees Blair makes Estelle suspect that there’s something that the three of them know that she doesn’t. There’s something lonely about not knowing, but she shoves the feeling down and waits patiently.

 

 

Maybe, if she tries enough, waits enough, perhaps they’ll tell her sometime soon.

 

 

(they don't)

 

* * *

 

Blair coughs and coughs and coughs.

The ground is scattered all over with flowers and petals, looking like a sea of purple and red. It’s hard for her to breath, and she feels like she’s suffocating in the sweetness. Between coughs, she laughs at the irony. Normally, a sight like this would bring any other person into bliss. It is a romantic gesture commonly seen, after all, by the servant girls in the castle as they are wooed into their companion's beds.

This is her own personal hell, she thinks as she remembers the way the princess had looked at her earlier that day. The thought is accompanied by another round of coughs and clumps of blood and flowers.

She’s worthless, she thinks when the attack subsides. She’s curled up tightly on the ground. One arm is wrapped tightly across her torso, fingers digging into her side deeply enough to leave marks through her shirt. The other is stained with reds and purples from futilely trying to stop the flow of flowers bursting out of her lips. How is she supposed to protect her like this? No, she doesn’t regret her choice—the way she is right now, she cannot protect Estelle.

She doesn’t deserve to be at her side anymore, and this is the last thing she can do to protect her.

She’s struggling to take in breaths, and the pain in her chest won’t subside. How far along is she now? She feels like there isn’t much time left anymore, especially with the full blooms that are scattered beside her now. Is this what her uncle felt during his last months?

_Don’t leave me, Blair._

She wants to scream, but her voice is caught in her throat among the tangled stems, leaves, and flowers. She wants to tell Estelle—

 

 

(- ---- -- ---- -- ---- ----)

 

* * *

 

Blair leaves her when the first signs of spring begin to show.

It’s as sudden as rainstorm that hits them, thundering, shocking, miserable. It’s not Blair who tells her nor her mother. It’s Gareth, another knight that has replaced Blair, who tells her in the morning when she leaves her bedchambers.

It’s as if the life has been taken out of her, a breath stolen away, the wind in her sails dying, the light fading away into the darkness.

 

 

(nothing, no one can take her place)

 

 

Estelle runs, her feet pattering like the rain through the hallways in shoes not meant for running. If she wasn’t sure about what was going on, she knew nothing more than yesterday, only that she had done something wrong—she’d failed, but she still hadn’t known what it was.

 

 

Her mother’s voice is chilly, enough to freeze the rain into snow, into hail. She tells her daughter that Blair isn’t fit for her position anymore and that Estelle should know better to show such foolish behavior in the castle. Estelle yells and screams at her, asking why _she_ wasn’t asked first, why _she_ hadn’t gotten a choice in this change, why _she_ doesn’t know anything when everyone around her seems to know everything.

“Because I asked her Majesty to relinquish my position.” Blair’s response cuts through her tantrum like lightning through the dark sky, and it’s as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on her.

Blair drags her out of the Queen’s chambers after bowing in respect, dragging Estelle by the arm. Estelle is numb as she follows her knight—no, her former knight—out of the room, stumbling over her feet. Blair’s back is facing away from her, resolute, and she feels a hundred miles away from Estelle. Estelle has a million questions on the tip of her tongue, but nothing comes out, stuck at the back of her throat.

Estelle wants to see her turn around, reassure her that everything will be alright, that everything was the same as it was before, that this is a dream and nothing more—

 

 

_Please, don’t leave me_

 

 

But Blair doesn’t.

 

 

The visage of that upright, unyielding back blurs in her vision and disappears, as though Blair were never there. There is only the scent of violets—a scent that has accompanied Blair for some time now—that seems to linger in the air, but even that vanishes like a dream she never had. It leaves Estelle alone in the hallway with the sound of unceasing rain, droplets spilling across the carpet and her hands, wondering if Blair was ever there in the first place.

 

* * *

 

This is how Estelle finds Blair, lying in bed with a sea of violets surrounding her, flowers still tumbling out of her in a stream of purple and red. The first thought to come through the haze of pain is, wow, what a sight she must be.

This is her worst nightmare, Estelle finding out about the truth of who she is.

But before she can push Estelle out, out, out—the violets tear through her lungs, claw up her throat, and explode into a flurry out of her mouth. It’s torture that leaves Blair gasping for air and oblivious to the world except for this illness that won’t leave her. 

The sound of her name pulls her out of the darkness threatening to drown her alive. The pain ebbs away, and she sees Estelle hovering over her. All Blair's mind can register is that somehow, Estelle will be disappointed in her.

 

* * *

 

The next time Estelle stumbles on Blair, she’s lying in a bed of violet petals.

The air is pungent with the saccharine smell of violets, a scent that ebbs intermittently in the air like an ocean wave. There’s also the metallic tang of iron, and when she rushes over to Blair and brushes aside the petals, her hands are smudged with blood. Estelle recognizes the Flower-Spitting Disease almost immediately, and all the clues fall into place, the reasons for everything falling together like a puzzle piece.

Her heart breaks at the sight. She should have paid more attention, she thinks, she should have seen this. And from what she knows of Blair, the way it played out is exactly how Blair would have wanted it.

 

 

Except for the fact that Estelle found out, much sooner than Blair would have wanted.

 

 

There’s this sense of dread that worms its way inside of her, and it whispers, “She would have stayed quiet until she died.” Cold, icy tendrils run up her veins, consuming her from inside out, starting from her fingertips all the way to her heart, which beats like rumbling thunderstorm—harsh, erratic, and loud. The world is spinning dizzily around her, and it’s suddenly hard to breath. The only thing that keeps her grounded is the feeling of her fingers digging into the fabric of Blair’s shirt and freezing palms.

And when Blair has the gall to say _that_ —another piece of Estelle’s heart breaks off. Every breath she takes feels like torture, and her chest is twists and tightens. Something burns inside of her like an inferno, and she feels like she’s going to be consumed by the flames. But this feeling is nothing to what Blair feels, Estelle knows, and she doesn’t know how Blair can hold even a fraction of this pain.

 

* * *

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Blair rasps. Her voice sounds terribly harsh, and it grates even her own ears. “You’ll ruin your dress.” It’s an excuse, a flimsy one at best.

“I’ll ruin my dress?” Estelle’s voice is shaky, “That’s the first thing you say? I hear you sounding like you’re dying and come to help, and the first thing you do is tell me to leave because _I’ll ruin my dress_?” Estelle is holding onto Blair’s shirt and hand as if Blair would disappear the moment she let go. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Blair knows it’s her fault, and she can’t do anything to stop her from looking like that.

This is exactly what Blair doesn’t want to see, she thinks as she shuts her eyes, this expression that looks like she’s in so much pain. This is because of her carelessness, her selfishness—

 

* * *

 

Does Blair not understand what she’s doing to Estelle?

It’s unfair, Estelle thinks, that she was the last to know everything. That Blair trusted Blaise, Tristan, and even the Queen with this before her. Didn’t Blair know that Estelle would stop at nothing to help her if she had known, that Estelle would have been at her side the entire time?

But it’s unfair to think that—because Estelle knows that even if Blair had told her, she wouldn’t have been able to help. Her status, knowledge—even her power—would do nothing, unable to change Blair’s feelings, unable to stop this growth. She was useless in the face of a disease whose only cure was a miracle.

 

* * *

 

“How long?” Estelle asks the same question that Blaise had asked her many months ago. “Is this why…?” Her voice fades away, before taking on a bitter edge. “No, I don’t need to ask. I already know it is.” Blair focuses on the nails that dig into the back of her hand. It keeps her tethered, focused on the princess holding her, pulling her away from the throbbing pain in her chest.

“Blair,” she calls out her name, voice cracking badly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me help you?” She leans forward so that her forehead is pressed against Blair’s chest. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Estelle isn’t crying, but everything about her is showing that she is--the way she trembles, the waver in her voice, the shakiness of her breaths. It breaks Blair’s heart, and the words she’s been bottling up spills out of her.

 

* * *

 

“How long has it been?” Estelle asks, but there are more questions underneath those words.

 

_Who is it that you love?_

 

_Who is it that won’t love you back?_

 

_Who is the person that you are willing to die for?_

 

_Who is the person that is killing you?_

 

* * *

 

“It’s my fault,” Blair tells Estelle, and she begins to ramble. “It’s my fault for not being good enough—I’m not strong enough, I’m not brave enough. You’re always giving me too much--I’m taking too much from you, and I can’t stop wanting more-- I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, but I can’t- I can’t…!” The words are choked up as the flowers blossom out of her throat, i ~~t hurts it hurts ithurts this isn’t the kind of flowers she wants to give her~~

“I don’t deserve to be loved by you.”

Estelle's eyes are so very sad.

 

* * *

 

It’s you, Blair says in between the words of her confession, you are the person that’s killing me.

 

The dam breaks, and Estelle shatters into pieces.

 

You are the one, Blair says, that I am willing to die for.

 

* * *

 

“But I do,” Estelle cries, “I love you, even if you don’t think I do, even if you think you don’t deserve it. I’ve been trying to tell you--” A sob interrupts her words. She shuts her eyes and presses her forehead against Blair’s. “You’re the one giving too much of yourself away. I’m the one taking too much from you, and I know I’ve been asking for a lot already--”

Estelle’s voice cracks and she pauses. Her tears fall onto Blair’s face, splashing onto her eyelids, her cheeks.

“Stay by my side and let me love you,” Estelle says. “I love you, Blair. I love you, I love you, I love you. Even if you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you that I love you until you do. I love the way you smile, I love sneaking outside of the castle with you, I love the way you brush my hair out of my face. I love the strong parts about you, and I also love the parts of you that are weak. Please, don’t give away anymore of yourself. Please, don’t keep hating the person I love.”

Blair can’t reply for a long time. She hesitates, unsure, because this is an outcome she has never thought of. She reaches to cup Estelle's cheeks, thumbing away the tears that streak down them. She thinks and thinks and thinks.

“I’m sorry, Estelle,” she whispers, when the sobs begin to subside. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“I don’t want an apology,” Estelle says, lifting her head back up. “I just want you to stay with me.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, puffy. But she still looks beautiful, Blair thinks. The princess’s eyes are staring back at her, defiant and full of life. “Just stay by my side and let me love you, Blair.” 

 

 

Blair closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and feels the cool air fill her lungs. Only the familiar and warm scent of Estelle brushes against her nose.

 

 

"Okay," she says, and Estelle's smile in reply is something she'll never forget.

 

**Author's Note:**

> violets: a promise of fidelity and faithfulness, especially for a loved one


End file.
